“Kuon Naga,” I say, and he winces. “And after I found that … place?”
“It felt like … waking up.” He frowns, groping for words. “Or going from being nearly awake to wide-awake, maybe. Ever since you came aboard, I was aware, but it felt like I didn’t have enough strength to do anything, not even think much. Then when you got near the node, suddenly I could … feel that there was a … a larger space nearby, and I moved into it.” He shook his head, frustrated. “It’s hard to explain.”
“You stopped an angel. And you showed me the way out. How?”
“I could feel it trying to touch your mind. It found out what you wanted, and then decided you weren’t … allowed here, I guess. I tried to stop it, and…” He looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry. I know what I did, but I don’t have the words for it.”
“It’s all right,” I say. “When you say it, you mean the Soliton itself? The ship?”
“I … think so. It’s everywhere, anywhere the energy touches.”
“Is it really alive?”
“I don’t know. It can … make decisions, I think, but it doesn’t feel like a person.”
Blessed. There’s a hundred more questions I want to ask, but the stream of power is visibly thinning. I clear my throat.
“We’re almost there, I think. To the Garden. But I need you to show me the rest of the way.”
“I’ve been getting it ready.” Hagan raises one hand, and a ball of twisting gray motes materializes. Once again, he tosses it at me, and it sinks into my chest, leaving only a single twitching thread of gray on the outside. “You’re right; it’s not far now. But you have to hurry, and there are so many of them.…”
“We’ll make it.” He’s growing dimmer. “Hagan, why are you helping me?”
He raises one eyebrow, in a well-remembered, infuriating expression. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“You know, don’t you? That I…”
“That you killed me?” He nods, translucent now. “I remember.”
“Then…”
“And I understand why.” He flicks his eyes up at the platform above us. “You’re bringing them all to the Garden. You didn’t have to.”
I look down at Meroe’s peaceful features. “I know.”
“I always thought you were … better than the life we lived, in Kahnzoka.” When I looked up, Hagan has vanished, but his voice is still a whisper in my ear. “I’m glad you got the chance to prove me right.”
My throat is thick, and I blink away tears. The flow of Eddica energy dwindles to a trickle, and then vanishes. For a long time, I sit in silence, until Meroe stirs and opens her eyes.
“Were you talking to him?” she says. “The ghost?”
I nod. “He says the Garden isn’t far, but there are a lot of crabs in the way.”
“It’ll help to have you on the front line.”
She yawns and sits up. My shirt falls away, leaving her uncovered, not that it covered very much to begin with. I drink in the glorious sight of her, the soft curves. I can feel her staring back.
“What are we going to tell them?” I ask. It’s been preying on my mind.
“About what?”
“About what happened here.” I gesture to myself. “We come down together, and now I’m healed. Someone is going to guess what you are.”
Meroe shrugs, smiling. “You were already mostly healed. Whatever you took down in the Deeps must have had a lasting effect. You were just worn-out, and then I dragged you down here to rut.”
I snort a laugh, then hesitate. “You don’t mind? Telling everyone about … this.”
Meroe looks at her hands. “I’m not going to shout from the rafters about it. But … gods, Isoka, this is what I want. My father can go to the Rot.”
I lean in and kiss her. For a moment, I think we’re going to start all over again, but with an effort Meroe pulls herself away.
“They’re waiting for us,” she says.
“Rot.” I sigh. “If we survive—”
“Indeed,” Meroe says. “Let’s survive.”
* * *
Meroe had stuffed the outfit I’d worn to the officers’ audience into the bottom of her bag. I change into it now, leaving my half-shredded, bloodstained things behind. Tightening the straps, I take deep breaths, reveling in the sensation of stretching without pain. This time, there aren’t even marks on my skin to show where the wounds had been.
Of course, as Meroe said, it’s possible we’ve just gotten lucky. Just because her powers have saved me twice doesn’t mean they won’t turn me into a bloated monstrosity the next time. I can’t get careless.
Still, I feel good. Great, even, the mad charge of the healing blending into postcoital satisfaction and a night’s rest, leaving me with a bouncy energy. Once I’m dressed, I ignite my blades, listening to them part the air with a soft hiss, and feel the heat from my armor. I dismiss one blade, and try envisioning an opening flower on that arm, as Zarun recommended. To my surprise, it works. The armor dims around the rest of my body, leaving me with a round shield of green light. I practice shifting back and forth several times, but it already feels natural.
I wonder if, had the Immortals caught me young, they’d have taught me these tricks in the Legions. In the Sixteenth Ward, the raw power of being a Melos adept had always been enough. Only on Soliton had I realized how much there could be to learn about a power that had always felt instinctive. If we survive, I have practicing to do.
If we survive. Like Meroe said, let’s survive.
The officers are surprised to see me at the morning council. Zarun and Karakoa both sport bandages, and I recognize the smell of Sister Cadua’s powerburn poultices. The Scholar looks gaunt, his cheeks hollowing out, his cane tapping nervously. Shiara seems untouched, her lip paints and makeup still perfect, but underneath even she is showing the strain.
“We’re almost there,” I say, as I join their circle. “But there’s a lot of crabs in the way.”
The Scholar’s eyes widen. He can see the thread of intangible gray energy that spools out from my chest, leading into the darkness of the Center. He stares at me for a moment, and I raise an eyebrow.
“That’s certainly good to hear,” Shiara says. “Morale has … not been good.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I’ll be joining the vanguard today.”
“You seemed pretty badly hurt yesterday,” Zarun says. “Though I hear your actions were quite heroic.”
I tap my face, the blue lines. “I heal fast, it seems.”
“Indeed.” Zarun’s eyes are unreadable.
“In that case,” Karakoa says, “I recommend that I take rear guard. We are spread very thin.”
I glance at Meroe, who has come up behind me. She nods.
“If there’s anyone not in the hunting packs who can touch Sahzim,” she says, “I’d like to gather them just behind the vanguard. They should be able to tell us if any more crabs are hiding under the bridges.”
Everyone nods in approval. Wielders of Sahzim, the Well of Perception, were usually scavengers rather than hunters, but this was a good way to use their talents.
“We should move as soon as we can,” Meroe says. “We’re not sure how much ground there is left to cover.”
“I’ll get my people started,” Zarun says.
The others disperse to their various tasks. I give Meroe a grin as she goes back among the column, then turn to Zarun, who is watching me with what looks like concern.
“What?” I ask him.
“You’re certain you’re all right?” he says. “It’s not going to do morale any good to have the Deepwalker collapse from blood loss in the middle of a fight.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“If you say so.” He stretches, wincing. “I wish I was. It’s been a long time since I had to push this hard.”
For a moment, I feel guilty. Meroe can’t help everyone. Even if she could, half of them would probably go into hysterics at the thought of being touched by a ghulwitch, and she’d end up getting lynched.
If he’s feeling a little pain, though, Zarun seems hale enough, running through a series of exercises to loosen sore muscles. By the time he’s done, other fighters of the vanguard are gathering. Thora and Jack are there, and other pack leaders and hunters I recognize from Crossroads. For the most part, I don’t know their names, but every one of them knows me, and I hear a low buzz of conversation as they realize I’m going to fight with them.
I don’t need Meroe to tell me that now is the time to say a few words. But I still don’t have much to say.
“We’re nearly there,” I tell them. “We should reach the Garden today, if we can push through the crabs. Let’s get this finished.”
Not much, but it seems to serve. “Deepwalker!” someone shouts from the back. The others take it up, one by one. “Deepwalker! Deepwalker!”
Zarun gives me a sardonic glance. I grin at him, raise one hand, and ignite my blade with a crackle-hiss and a flash of green.
* * *